


Untitled (looking for suggestions)

by Miskumi



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 11:09:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22603663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miskumi/pseuds/Miskumi
Summary: Sheila refuses to acknowledge the fact that Rose is her daughter.  Instead she introduces her as her sister.  Rose has a dark secret that no one knows, and another that her mother would be devastated over.





	Untitled (looking for suggestions)

**Author's Note:**

> A/N:  
Hey all! Its been a while! 
> 
> I've started working on this original piece... The draft is rough right now. Things need fleshed out, added, removed, changed... So Any constructive ideas or input, including Title suggestions, are welcome!
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!
> 
> Hugs, Kisses and Peanut Butter Cookies! >^.^<  
Miskumi

Rose blinked slowly as she watched the crimson liquid drip from her finger tips. The flow was slow, almost that of a faucet that had been left dripping to prevent a freeze. Just a drip here, a drip there. 

She followed the trail up from the slowly pinking water that surrounded her, up to the edge of the porcelain tub, to her fingers, along her palm, to the jagged slashes on her wrist. The blade had been a welcomed sting on her skin, cutting another path along the already scarred flesh. This hadn't been the first time. 

The blonde had been cutting since she was 12. Being the pudgy kid with glasses in middle school had cost her a lot. Stress and a looming divorce between her parents, her father's drug use and eventual overdose had contributed hugely to her weight. Her mother had indulged her only daughter's every desire, especially after her father died. So that meant what every sweet confection Rose could get her hands on. 

Her mother never bothered her about her weight, though she gained it quickly. Instead she continued to buy her clothes to fit her figure, and did her best to keep her child happy. But that didn't help the girl in the end. It had only pushed to make things worse. Whoever came up with the idea that bright colors and loud patterns were a good idea for an overweight child must have been crazy. 

Other children at school were so cruel. Calling her Shamu, a beached whale, and bouncing in their seats as she walked by. One brave soul had even dubbed her "Lady Cluck". The nickname stuck. That was the day she started. She held off her tears as best she could until she could be excused to the restroom. There she took a pair of classroom scissors and made the first line on her previously pale, perfect skin. It hadn't done much damage, but the stinging pain of the blade had numbed everything else she was feeling, and Rose felt like maybe she could make it through at least one more day. 

Once she hit puberty, a little late around 15, her metabolism sped up and her taste for sweets tapered down slowly. So, the weight dropped. It wasn't a dramatic loss at first, just a slow pound here, ounce there. The baggy clothes hid the weight loss, as well as the lines that were appearing in her skin. She hadn't just been cutting her wrists. She was cutting her thighs, her belly, her ribs. Anywhere she would bleed. 

When her mother noticed her pants and skirts sagged dangerously low, even with a belt, that is when her wardrobe was replaced. There were fresh cuts on each wrist and upper arm, which Rose did her best to hide from her mother. And the woman was so wrapped up in her new man that she hardly noticed anyway. 

Two years later and her mother was divorced a second time, and was planning her third wedding with Rose, now 17, as maid of honor. Sheila had had more elective cosmetic surgeries than Rose cared to count and was so obsessed with making herself perfect, Rose was once again basically ignored. But she preferred it that way. When her mother paid attention to her, it was always commenting about her clothes and jewelry. Wanting to shop, to buy her more and more. Never any comment to how she was feeling. Most days she felt more like she had a rich roommate than a mother. 

Rose soaked in her private tub daily. She didn't cut every day, only when the day had seemed hard. Today she had cut twice. The rivulets of blood were thicker than usual. And were starting to slow. The razor blade sat just within reach, and Rose eyed the shiny metal again, considering reopening the wound. A knock came at the door. 

"Rosie, sweetheart, are you in there?" Her mother, Sheila called through the door in a sing song voice as she tried the knob. Rose had locked it. "Please tell me you are getting ready! Vinny is sending a car for us at 5!" 

"I'll be ready, Sheila." Rose wasn't allowed to call her mom. It made her feel old. 

"Good! Remember to wear the blue with sequins Vinny got you! He loves that dress." Sheila called and Rose could hear her light footsteps moving away from the door. 

"Vicente loves ME in that dress." Rose grumbled before sinking down into the cooling water, wetting her blonde locks. She held her breath as long as she could, surfacing slowly and wiping the water from her face. The switch to release the drain was toggled with her toes before Rose stood and flipped on the shower, washing her body and hair quickly before stepping out. 

The towel she used to dry off was soft and warm; her mother had bought her a towel warmer for her last birthday. She wrapped a towel around her head and left the bathroom, a slight red puddle drying on the edge of the tub. She ran her fingers over the sequins of the blue dress she had already laid out on her queen bed, smiling at the single rose in the vase on her nightstand. The gift card lay open near its base. 

Taking a seat at her almost full wall vanity, she began expertly applying her makeup. She knew she was beautiful. Puberty had done wonderful things for her, not just the weight loss. Her complexion, despite her scars, was near flawless, and the perfect shade between tan and pale. She knew just where to put what color to accentuate her features, and hide her flaws. Rose honestly didn't believe she had any flaws, despite what others had told her. 

Make-up applied, she loosed her towel and let her hair fall in golden ringlets down her back. The locks were her favorite thing about herself, always had been. Her natural curl looked as if she had spent hours in front of a mirror with a curling iron. Rose slipped into her undergarments, adjusting her breasts to sit just right in her strapless bra, and slipped into her dress. 

It wasn't only Vicente's favorite dress on her, but it was her favorite gift from him so far. She pulled the zipper into place and smoothed the fabric about her hips. Despite the signs of her weight loss, the dress laid perfectly along her curves. She looked herself over in the floor to ceiling mirror and smiled. Now for her shoes. 

One of her favorite things in the world had become shoes. She had so many pairs that several months could go by without wearing the same pair twice. But she did. There were favorites among the collection, and there were several of the same pair, in case they ever wore out. Rose slipped her foot into the left shoe, and felt an abnormal lump under her toes. Crouching slowly, she reached into the black pump, pulling out a sapphire and diamond bracelet, gemstones in the shape of a rose. The girl smiled. 

Fully dressed, she slipped on some jewelry and stepped out the door. Sheila was already walking towards her, dressed in black. "There's my beautiful girl!" She spoke as if to a friend, and not to her own daughter. "Don't you look stunning!" Rose felt a blush cross her cheeks. "Vinny will be so happy!" Rose thought, if you only knew. 

Vicente Valez, or as Sheila liked to call him, Vinny, was 20 years younger than Sheila. His family was old money from Spain. Being the last in his line, when his parents died, they had left him everything. He had more money than he knew what to do with. Sheila was so proud that she had "landed" him. "See, Rose, I do look young enough to be your sister!" She had giggled. 

Glossy black hair, almost as thick as his accent, bronzed skin and captivating, unusual blue eyes. Rose had met him once briefly after he and her mother had started dating. It wasn't until he took the pair on a vacation to the Bahamas that Rose really spent any time with him. She had to admit there had been a twinge of jealousy that rose up inside her when she saw him strut out onto the beach wearing nothing but his speedo. His body was fit and toned, like that of an athlete, though it was fairly obvious that he had never seen a day of hard labor in his life. 

Rose tried to keep from staring at him, but it was hard. His oiled and wet skin caught the light from the sun and reflection off the water just so, that it was hard to look away. Rose wasn’t the only one who noticed. 

Sheila opened the door to a tuxedoed chauffer, holding open the door of a Rolls Royce limousine. She squealed in delight and clapped her hands, bounding out the door. Rose caught a glance at herself in the mirror, adjusted one of her curls, and closed the door behind herself. The chauffer reached for her hand, guiding her down the steps. She nodded her thanks as he bowed. 

At the restaurant, Sheila was quick to embrace her fiancé, who feigned an excitement to match. Anyone who knew him would have recognized the fakeness, as it did not reflect in his eyes. The blue orbs only truly brightened with excitement when Rose stepped out and caught them. Shimmering that was reflected in her own slid down his face to a genuine smile, showing bright white teeth. He reached for her hand; Sheila’s resting gently on his elbow. 

“You look beautiful tonight,” his words dripped off his tongue, smooth, soft and romantic. “I am so glad you were able to join us.” Vicente placed a soft kiss on Rose’s knuckles, thumbing the bracelet softly. Rose blushed. 

Dinner was beautiful and romantic, a menu already decided, uniquely designed by Vicente himself for each of them. Candles lit the private table, lights from the chandelier dimmed. Sheila dominated the conversation, talking about everything from wedding plans to the honeymoon, and, of course, herself. 

Vicente only seemed to have eyes for Rose. To an outsider looking in, the love between Rose and Vicente was obvious, deep and genuine. Sheila, so caught up in herself, didn’t notice. So wrapped up in herself, she was oblivious as ever to the fact that neither her daughter nor her fiancé was paying her any attention. She just kept talking. 

As they returned to the limo, Sheila’s arm linked in Vincente’s, Rose walked a few steps behind, watching the man move in his suit. He really was quite attractive. But Rose knew that her mother wanted him simply for his money. Her own fortune was dwindling quickly, and the life insurance money from the death of Rose’s father had been put into a trust for Rose that she couldn’t touch until she turned 21. Once she could, the girl would be independently wealthy, and be able to walk away from her mother forever. Sheila was constantly trying to find a way to access that money, claiming she needed it for Rose. 

After kissing his fiancé on the hand, Vicente reached for Rose’s hand. Sheila was immediately on her phone after she slipped into the car, and the door was silently shut behind her. Although the dark, tinted windows made it hard to see in, it was guaranteed that she wasn’t looking out. Vicente took Rose by the hand and pulled her in close. 

“I am truly glad that you came tonight,” He spoke again, kissing the girl on the cheek and wrapping his arm about her waist, pulling their bodies together. Rose could feel the tightness of his body under his clothes. “And I am glad you found your gift.” 

“It’s beautiful, thank you.” She kissed his cheek softly. “And thank you for the flower.” 

“Anything for you, mi amore.” He responded, slipping into his native tongue that Rose loved so much. “Will you be home alone later?” Rose nodded softly. 

“I believe Sheila plans to go out to the bar with her entourage tonight.” She replied, rolling her eyes. Her mother was always going out to the bars, though she never paid for drinks. “She will probably leave again as soon as we get home and I don’t think she will be home until just before sunrise.” 

“Good,” the man almost purred in her ear, causing a shiver to run the length of Rose’s spine. “I will see you soon.” He kissed the corner of her mouth, and she could taste the wine he had been drinking. “And I will bring the wine.” 

Vicente reluctantly released his hold on Rose as he pulled the door open once again. “Until then.” She blew him a kiss as she slid into the leather seat, and he closed the door behind her. Sheila was squealing to whoever she was talking to about the wedding, though it was all things that had been hashed out months ago. Rose couldn’t wait for the whole thing to be over. 

The affair had started between Rose and Vicente shortly after they returned from the Bahamas. Sheila had become angry when Vicente wouldn’t buy her a new car and had stormed off, leaving Rose alone for almost three weeks. Vicente had stayed, making sure that Rose was safe and had everything she needed. Despite her wealth, Sheila refused to have any servants live in the home. Instead the maids came three twice a week, and the chefs were only there long enough to cook, when they ate at home. 

Vicente was only 8 years older than Rose. He was still young, and had more in common with Rose than he did Sheila. The two had met at the bar, where Sheila had lied to him about her age. She told him that she was only 29, when she was, in fact, 45. When he had found out that she had a 17-year-old daughter, he didn’t flinch. He was taught that your word was gold, and by the time he found out the truth about Rose, he and Sheila were already engaged. 

Their vacation had been a celebration of the engagement, and the two had only been dating for six months. But Sheila insisted, as “her clock was ticking”. In truth, it was simply her bank account was running low. Vicente had insisted that they take her sister, Rose, along. On the vacation, Rose had told him the truth, and believed that the revelation had just added to the boiling pot that was already under the surface. 

In their three weeks together, the pair bonded. Vicente tried in the beginning to keep the relationship strictly that of a step-father step-child, but the more time he spent with her, the deeper and harder he fell for her. And it was obvious that Rose was falling for him too. He doted on her, spoiled her. She never asked him for anything as it wasn’t gifts she wanted. In truth it was simply the attention. 

The first night the slept together, Rose had been terrified, but Vicente had been a gentle and kind lover. And the moment had been magic. All her friends had talked about the pain and the mess of their first time, but there was none of that for Rose. That was the night that Vicente told her he loved her. 

Rose had been shocked when she heard those words from him. “You are engaged to my mother...” She had stuttered to him in the dark. 

“Si,” He confirmed sadly. “I am. And a promise is a promise.” There was truly pain behind his words as he spoke them. “I wish I was not.” 

“What are we going to do?” She asked. Because she indeed loved him too. He was her dearest friend and closest confidante. She told him things she hadn’t dared to tell her mother. He knew everything. Well, almost everything. He didn’t know about her scars. 

“We have to keep it a secret. If Sheila were to discover that my heart belonged to you, she would kick me out and I would never see you again.” He looked down into her eyes, his catching the moonlight through the window. 

“I wouldn’t want that.” She whispered, closing her eyes to fight back the tears. 

“Nor would I,” Vicente leaned in and pressed his lips gently to hers. 

That night they had slept wrapped in each other’s arms, as if their relationship wasn’t forbidden, or a secret. They went for breakfast at a local coffee house, and when they returned home, Sheila had returned. Life had returned to what Sheila called normal, Rose and Vicente meeting alone whenever they could steal away. 

Rose was right. As soon as the chauffer pulled down the driveway after depositing mother and daughter at home, Sheila had bounded back into her bedroom, changed into an outfit far too young for her years, and headed back towards the door. A girlfriend of hers, around Vicente’s age, was waiting in the driveway. 

“I’ll be out late tonight, Rose.” She called out. “I don’t even know if I’ll make it home until late tomorrow morning!” The blonde stepped out of her room wearing sweats and a loose shirt. 

“Uhm..” Her voice reflected the confusion on her face. 

“Bachelorette party take one!” Sheila squealed. “Some of the girls aren’t going to be in town when my actual party takes place. Plus, that one is going to be suuuper boring. No offense. Byeeeee!!” Rose wasn’t even given the chance to respond before her mother skipped out the door, sounding like a teenager from the nineties. 

Rose glanced at herself in the mirror, then glanced at the clock on the table in the entryway. Vicente should be there any minute. When she returned to her room, she stepped out of the clothes she was wearing and looked herself over in the mirror once more. The baggy outfit she had been wearing was perfect to cover up the sheer black baby doll nightgown she wore underneath. 

The fabric was fitted to her chest, loose around her midsection, and little more than a ribbon around her hips. In a word, it was perfect. Rose had purchased it from the local department store on one of her mother’s spur of the moment shopping trips. Sheila had given her a credit card, expecting it to be used for whatever Rose desired, though the card she had used was one that she had been given by Vicente; one that her mother didn’t know anything about. 

Sitting before her vanity to check and touch up her makeup, she heard the front door open and click shut softly. He was here. Rose felt her normal shudder of excitement when she knew that she would have the man all to herself. Her heart yearned for these moments, these nights of unbridled passion, unconditional love, and complete and utter devotion that she had never received from anyone else. 

She heard him suck in a breath as soon as he stepped into her doorway. She turned slowly, looking over him. He was still wearing his suit, as he always did, but the tie was loose and the top button of his shirt was undone. When their eyes locked together, he smiled. 

“My Rose, how beautiful you look.” He held his hands out, arms wide to her. Rose stood and threw herself at him, resting her head against his chest and listening to his heart pound. 

“You always say that, my love.” She spoke, teasing him playfully. 

“But it is true. You look beautiful in anything.” He kissed the top of her head, the scent of her French perfume filling his nostrils and overwhelming his senses. 

“I am so glad you came.” She spoke softly, nuzzling into his breastbone. 

“I would not want to disappoint you.” Together they walked over to the bed, fell into the soft fabric of the covers, and made love. 

Vicente left around 2 in the morning. There was no clue as to when Sheila was going to arrive home, so rather than be caught, he kissed Rose goodbye and slipped out, promising to return as soon as he could. Even if he couldn’t be there specifically for her, he would be there none the less. 

When she heard the door pulled shut, Rose ran herself a warm bath. The maids had cleaned the red from the porcelain of the tub, and the razor blade had been thrown in the trash. The blonde sighed. 

Watching Vicente leave was almost as hard as watching him be with her mother. She didn’t deserve him, and day after day watching them together was torture for Rose. Whenever he pressed his lips to hers, wrapped his arm around her waist, told her he loved her, Rose wished it was her. It made her heart ache. She wanted to yell out, force her mother to see that her fiancé didn’t love her, he loved Rose. 

Every day that passed pulled the wedding one day closer. If Vicente married her mother, Rose didn’t think she would be able to go on. She didn’t know if seeing him day after day, knowing that he was sleeping beside her mother, making love to her mother, kissing her mother.... 

Rose shook the thought from her head. It was too much, and the tears were already running down her face. She turned to the tub. The water was filling slowly, and the steam from the hot water was raising into the air. Rose reached into the drawer under the sink. Her package of razorblades was there. She pulled one out. The fabric of her nighty slipped off easily, showing her fine, pale skin. She turned her hand over and looked at the scabbed cuts on the inside of her wrist. It would be easy enough to re-open the wounds. Go just a little bit deeper. 

She placed the blade on the edge of the tub, stepping into the water and slowly sinking in. It was warm, and seemed to soothe her. But not completely. Rose’s heart continued to ache. It got harder and harder each time to watch him walk away. She turned the water off once it reached her ribs. Her fingers grasped the cold steel of the blade, turned it over and over, catching the light and glinting. She kissed the metal, and pressed the sharp edge to her wrist where it was scabbed. More pressure. 

A slow, determined pull of the metal across her skin and the ruby liquid began to ooze forth. Moving the blade down over the second track, she repeated the motion, a little more pressure. More blood. Rose laid the blade aside and held up her wrist, turning the cuts to face the water, and watched the essence of her life drip down like a slow rain into the water. Drip. Drip. Drip. 

The water splashed slightly as her blood dripped in. But not fast enough. Rose looked at the blade again. Her heart thumped heavy and slowly within her chest. She missed Vicente. Wished he hadn’t left. Him slipping from her bed had left her cold, sad and lonely. Why can’t he be mine? She questioned herself. Completely and totally mine... 

The blade stayed where it was, on the edge of her tub. She laid her arm on the porcelain, watching the blood ooze and slowly run down the side. Tipping her head back, she rested, feeling the flow of liquid across her skin. It was calming, though it wasn’t calming enough for her to completely relax. It was already starting to slow. 

Rose dozed in the water until her wrist scabbed over once more and the water started to cool. She dipped her arm in and rinsed the dried blood from her arm, released the drain, and stood. Drying herself with a towel from the rack, she left it and the nighty on the floor, gliding quietly back to her bed and drifting to sleep. 

The house was still quiet. It was 10’o clock in the morning when Rose looked at the clock on the bedside table. She rolled to her right. The pillows still smelled of Vicente. She took a deep breath, rolled back and stretched. There was a touch of an ache in her wrist where she had cut it the night before. 

There was no sound from within the house, no smell of cooking food. Rose wasn’t sure if her mother had even returned home. She stood, dressed in a simple yellow sundress, and slipped out of her room. No movement. Walking on tip toes she made her way down to Sheila’s room. The door was cracked. She pushed the door open softly. Someone was in the bed, though it was hard to see who. A soft snore could be heard from the pillow. Rose inched into the room. 

The form in the bed only moved in rhythm with the sound of breathing. There were clothes all over the floor. Please don’t let it be him... She inched further forward. No sound. More clothes. The closer she got, the clearer it became that there were two figures. Please... Closer still. The carpet of the floor was soft under her feet. The sun was peeking through a gap in the curtains, laying a path along the floor. She was at the edge of the bed. 

Brown hair against one pillow. That was Sheila. She had come home, and Rose hadn’t noticed. Blankets pulled tight up around her shoulders, hair over her face. She slept, mouth agape, a line of drool from one corner of her lips. Rose pulled her eyes away, looking further along the pillows. Sheila’s hair ended. The freshly bleached pillow case seemed to go on forever. More hair. Rose let out a soft sigh. It wasn’t Vicente. The blonde hair was too long, and definitely the wrong color. Rose slipped out of the room. 

Sheila didn’t come out of her room until after noon. She was put together, but obviously hung over. Rose didn’t see the other individual emerge, but heard the front door close. Sheila seemed to startle when she caught sight of her daughter, stretched out on the catch with a movie playing softly on the television. 

“Oh! Rose, I didn’t see you there.” Her voice was quiet and gravely. She had definitely had too much to drink. 

“Afternoon.” The blonde didn’t look up from the screen. “Feel okay?” She asked, knowing the answer. She pulled up her feet before her mother flopped onto the couch. 

“Ungh...” Came her mother’s reply as she flung an arm across her eyes. “i could sleep for days after last night. Why didn’t you come?” 

“I wasn’t invited, remember?”


End file.
